“It’s your flaws

I want to taste.

Your crooked mouth.

The way you smell after

being out all day.

The lump in your throat.

Your shaky hands.

Your morning breath.

Your prickly legs.

Your pimpled politeness.

Your tangled hair.

I don’t want to be able to

run my fingers through you

easily. It’s no fun writing

about perfections.

I want to talk about you-

flawed,

crooked,

endless

you.”